Revenge of the Cube Dweller

by Joanne Fox Phillips

  In layoffs, generally the higher-ups don’t get fired the same day as everyone else. Top brass brings them in separately to discuss their enormous contribution to the company that will no longer be needed, assure them that they will find something great in no time, and inform them that if they do not sign the severance agreement or if they hire a lawyer they’ll forgo their “package.” Some of these packages can be quite lucrative: a year or two of pay, full bonus, vested stock options, and covered medical plans.

  I suddenly wonder if I will be part of the layoff, and I am horrified. I was lucky to get this job, and having only six months of recent experience will not be much help in landing another. Little guys like me get much less severance pay than management, and there is no pleasant send-off. Usually HR people escort us out of the building like felons, with no opportunity to get our personal things from our cube or computer. Strangers look through our desk drawers and send our personal effects home later.

  A fairly easy argument can be made that our Internal Audit department is not fit for purpose. We are not even required by regulations and don’t contribute to the bottom line—unless, of course, you consider the savings that will result from my fraud discovery. I will make a rather significant contribution just by closing down the mother-daughter team currently taking millions from that bottom line. My unauthorized work might actually save our department from the grim reaper of HR, or maybe just save me. Clearly I am the cheapest person in the department, which is often how layoff decisions are made. I need to get this fraud discovery in front of Frank and Hal right away so that it has time to float up the chain to those responsible for modifying the existing org charts.

  No one from my group is in yet, and I feel ill at the thought of potential unemployment. I wonder about the name “Project Titanic.” It amazes me, the time executives spend thinking up code names for their projects. Winston had run a few by me over the years. Once his company was desperately seeking a merger partner, but none of their first choices were interested. When they landed on a target from the second round of possibilities, I recommended it be called Project Jagger, as in you can’t always get what you want. Winston loved it, and it stuck. I wonder which brain trust had been tapped to think up this one. “Titanic” is indeed appropriate. Negligence by leadership resulting in harm to the masses, and only the rich would survive. Around a quarter to nine the meeting ends and I disconnect the phone and remove my earbud.

  I think about e-mailing Frank or Hal to let them know about the Mazie/Amy caper, but I believe the scheme will be better discussed in person. I think that deep down every one of us auditor types wants to uncover a fraud. Not that we want fraud to occur—we just want to be the ones to discover it. After all, so much of internal audit work is tedious and mind numbing, and the notion that you might identify something worthy of a Law & Order episode provides enough incentive to prevent heavy drinking or suicide.

  “Frank.” I stand up and follow him as he walks past my cube to his office. I stand in his doorway and watch him hang up his jacket and put down his briefcase.

  “Can it wait, Tanzie?” he asks. “I haven’t even had coffee yet.” He sits down at his computer, and I take the hint.

  “Can I get you some?” I offer.

  “Sure. Creamer and some of the yellow sweetener. Not the pink stuff, okay? And by the way, if you’re going to be out more than a day, you need to give a written doctor’s note.”

  “But I didn’t go to the doctor, Frank. Are you sure that’s policy?”

  “It’s my policy, Tanzie.”

  “Right.” I seethe as I head to the coffee bar. I work for Hal, not Frank, and besides, I came in on the weekend. I got my work done.

  When I return with Frank’s coffee, he is on the phone and shoos me out with a dismissive wave and no “thank you.”

  Mazie has been stealing for about three years; what will a couple more minutes matter? I can always bring it up at the staff meeting. I use the time to go over the accounts payable data. There is no consistent approver on the fraudulent invoices, so I am satisfied that no one else at Bishop is involved in their embezzlement scheme. They must have created the invoices and just forged the approver’s signature. It’s really the setup person who takes a hard look at an invoice anyway, and that is Amy. The approvers often don’t even look at the paperwork. Sometimes they are just too busy and electronically post their approval without ever checking.

  A ping on my inbox indicates that the staff meeting has been canceled. I stand up—based on what I heard on the conference call this morning, if I want to keep my job I need to get my bosses working on this fraud investigation immediately—but instead I watch, shocked, as Hal walks by my cube and heads for the elevator bank. I sit down, thinking about what Skip said on the phone: Our timeline on this is to begin this morning with some top-level items. If Hal is one of those, I really am one of the “broader elements” on the chopping block. I quickly start to revise my plans.

  Hal returns in about thirty minutes or so, and without saying a word he shuts his door with a heavy thud. Moe and Frank both walk out of their offices and look at one another, wondering what it is all about.

  “Frank,” I call out of my cube, “do you have a minute? I really need to talk to you about something.”

  “Give me ten minutes,” he says and holds up his index finger as he walks with Moe to the men’s room, coffee bar, or somewhere else I am not welcome.

  Ten minutes takes about thirty, and when the two return, Moe is looking at his iPhone as they go directly into Hal’s office and close the door. They come out after a while, close Hal’s door behind them, and then leave again together, and I’m alone in my cube. After about an hour, I see Hal leave, briefcase in hand.

  “Are you feeling okay?” I ask as Hal walks past. Perhaps my female problems are contagious.

  “Nope,” he says, and that is it. He doesn’t look at me, just keeps going on his way to the elevator.

  Frank returns, and I peek around the door and again request some time.

  “Okay, come on in,” he says, sounding a little irritated. He motions for me to sit in the chair across from his desk.

  “Frank, I noticed something odd when I was doing the vendor testing. I did a little digging, and I think there might be some fraudulent expenses being paid out of Accounts Payable. And I think I know who is involved.”

  “I just did an Accounts Payable audit last year before I was hired at Bishop. Hal engaged Boyd and Associates and I ran that audit. That’s how I met Hal. How long do you think this has been going on?” I can tell he is getting defensive.

  “I’m not sure—and it is confusing—but I believe at least three years.”

  “How did you discover this?”

  “Well, when you had me do the testing, the data dump looked funny. There was really quite a lot of activity, so I ran some pivot tables and the activity stuck out.”

  “I didn’t see that when I reviewed your testing, Tanzie. There were no exceptions noted.”

  “I know. But that was just a test for approval of new vendors. It was the activity from changes that made me dig a little deeper. I’m sure you would have done the same, Frank. It may not have shown up on your sample when you tested it last year. I probably just got lucky.”

  This is not entirely true. Often auditors test just a small sample rather than look for anomalies via data analytics, the preferred method. The technique takes more skill, but it is regarded in the profession as superior, particularly when looking for fraudulent transactions. I find it so frustrating to work for bottom-feeders who do not understand the technical side of auditing enough to appreciate someone who does.

  “Have you shown this work to anyone else?”

  “No, not yet. I wanted to talk with you first. I really think there are two people involved.”

  “Collusion?” Frank perks up.

  “Yes, it’s a mother-daughter scheme.”

  “No auditor is expected to detect fraud in a collusion scheme.�
�� Frank looks like he’s relaxing a bit. “How did you find this?”

  This is the critical moment. On one hand, if I stroke his ego by attributing my discovery to blind luck, there will be no basis for career advancement. On the other hand, if I detail how I spied on Mazie and hacked into her computer, surely I will be accused of poor judgment again. I choose somewhere in the middle. The best strategy might be to include Frank in the discovery. He might be receptive enough to recognize my skills as a huge benefit to his own advancement.

  “Frank, if you have some time, let me walk you through how my data analytics work. This was part of that seminar Hal sent me to when I first started. I think you and Moe were out of town,” I say, trying not to appear too much of a smarty-pants.

  “All right, Tanzie. Show me what you got.”

  I scoot a guest chair over to Frank’s side of the desk and guide him through the process of culling through the minutia of thousands of individual transactions to identify the anomalies that detect fraud. To my surprise, Frank is not only receptive, he seems to appreciate the explanation. It is the first time I feel even a glimmer of respect from my immediate boss. He asks questions, and for once I don’t feel the need to feign confusion.

  “Tanzie, this is major fraud we’ve uncovered.”

  We?

  “Yes, I know, Frank,” I say. “I know Hal is gone for the day, but maybe we should meet with him about it when he gets back?” I watch Frank to see if I can detect any clues regarding Hal’s employment situation in his response.

  “I don’t think we can wait for that,” Frank says as he picks up the receiver and dials a four-digit extension. The phone is on speaker, and after several rings a voice mail greeting comes on.

  “Hello. This is Jim Davenport, Chief Compliance Officer for the Bishop Group. I’m away from my desk, but please leave a message and I’ll get back to you as soon as possible.”

  Frank cancels the speaker option when the beep sounds, but he stays on the line. “Jim, this is Frank Singleton in Internal Audit. I’ve uncovered a large embezzlement scheme down here and need to discuss our next steps. Please give me a call when you have a minute.”

  I feel the blood drain from my face, realizing what just happened. It wasn’t even “we” anymore. “I may need you to help with some of the paperwork after I meet with Jim. I’ll give you a call and let you know what I need. That’s it for now.” He turns his attention to his Outlook screen, and I push my chair back to its original spot, get up, and leave his office without looking back.

  I am screaming inside my brain. So Frank is taking credit for my work. Why am I not surprised? This is absolutely infuriating. I do not stop by my desk but go straight to the ladies’ room to cool down a bit.

  As I push open the door, I hear conversation from the stalls, and I very quietly shut the door so that I will not be noticed. The conversation is between two payroll ladies listing the names of the executives who got axed this morning and making the type of snide remarks that clerks make about the higher-ups in any company. But when they get to Hal they are not snide at all.

  “Poor Hal. He is such a great guy; I can’t believe they let him go,” one set of legs says to the other. I quietly leave the main bathroom and wait in the vestibule to collect my thoughts.

  So Hal got the boot after all. I figure Moe and Frank know about Hal by now, which explains their closed-door meetings and private talks this morning. There is now a power vacuum, and Frank and Moe will be wondering which of them might be promoted to the Chief Auditor position. What I know and what they don’t is that there is a good chance the entire department will be considered “not fit for purpose” and eliminated during the greater layoff yet to be scheduled.

  Still, Frank has a sizable advantage thanks to my fraud discovery. He can make a compelling argument to keep his job or even get promoted. He might very well decide to keep me too so that he can leverage my skills; but even so, it is clear I won’t receive credit or advancement of any kind.

  The reality hits me hard. I will never be anything but his helper, a cube dweller with no control or decision-making capability. Frank showed me his true nature this morning, and I would rather starve on the streets than propel his career forward with my abilities. I sit on the little couch in the ladies’ room vestibule to evaluate my options. I think about quitting. Just walking into Frank’s office and telling him. But what good will that do? Quitting without notice has absolutely no upside other than the momentary satisfaction derived from an immature outburst. “She was unstable,” Frank would say to everyone. “Poor thing. Really sort of sad.”

  Option two is to suck it up and see what happens in the coming days. Maybe I will get laid off, or maybe not. Maybe Frank will stay, maybe Moe, maybe me, or maybe nobody. I don’t care anymore.

  My pity party is interrupted by the vroom of toilets flushing and the portly payroll ladies emerging from their stalls to wash their hands. I notice the nervous look they give each other, wondering how long I have been sitting there and whether I have overheard their confidential conversation. I need to regroup, and I follow the ladies out and walk back to my cube.

  When I get back to my desk, Moe is in Frank’s office. I tap on the door.

  “I just heard they let Hal go,” I tell them.

  “Where did you hear that from?” Frank looks perturbed.

  The doling out of information in the corporate world has a prescribed pecking order, and I have just breached the unspoken rule of finding something out before management told me.

  “Ladies’ room.” Take that. You boys have your network, but those payroll ladies know all.

  “What else did you hear?” Moe asks. So he thinks I might know something he doesn’t.

  “Just some other executive names, but I don’t know who they are. It was all very confusing.” I smile as I leave Frank’s office. I am not about to give Frank anything again. Let him meet with Jim in Legal and fumble through information he doesn’t fully understand. He will need me eventually, and the next time I will not be quite so willing to work without something for myself.

  I grab my jacket from the back of my desk chair and head out for an early lunch. Maybe I won’t return at all. What are those two going to do about it? They are probably too focused on their own futures to give me a second thought. When layoff rumors permeate an organization, all productivity comes to an abrupt halt. People spend days speculating when, who, and how much—how much being the primary issue. Some people would love to be let go and take the package; others are completely torn up about the uncertainty of being unemployed or the stigma of being let go. I wonder which type I am, really.

  As I walk through the Bishop lobby on my way to the garage, I see Baldwin and a younger man heading out together. The younger man’s lightbulb shape marks him as a Bishop, and I wonder if perhaps this is Brandon about to get an earful from Uncle Baldwin on the sorry state of the maritime segment. They are involved in conversation and don’t acknowledge me as they briskly walk by.

  “I made reservations at the French Hen,” I overhear Baldwin tell his companion. Baldwin’s black Cadillac is waiting for him in the front, and I see them get in it as I cross the street on my way to the garage.

  With traffic, that gives me about a two-hour window, so I take the opportunity to go to the public library and do more snooping, knowing that Baldwin will not be on his desktop when I hijack it. My login attempt fails, so I try again but get the same result. I remember being bumped from the account yesterday and try not to panic. Obviously Baldwin has changed his password, but I wonder what else he might do. I take a deep breath and think about what to do next. I debate whether I should take a chance and log in as Marla. What if she is eating lunch at her desk? I punch in the familiar numbers on my phone.

  “Bishop Group,” the cheerful receptionist answers.

  “Marla Walters, please,” I say.

  “Just a moment while I connect you.” And with that the line rings over and over until the voice mail message kick
s in.

  “Brilliant,” I congratulate myself. I hang up before the beep and log in to the Diva Lady account.

  I scan her inbox looking for anything that involves the Houston explosion. I spot a notice for a meeting at 5:30 that evening with Sullivan and the VP of insurance and risk management. All parties are on-site, so I cannot call in like I did earlier that morning. How I would love to be a fly on the wall in that meeting.

  I go to my favorite Utica Square restaurant, which has an attached market that sells specialty meats and gourmet items.

  As I munch on my salad, I go over the events of the past days in my mind. In retrospect, they seem crazy. I am starting to get so caught up in this snooping thing that it has become an obsession with me. It is risky, and I love it. It will even be better with Lucy on board.

  There have been so few challenges in my life. While I was married to Winston, I devoted my time to bettering my golf game, and that became a twenty-year obsession. I worked at it hard and with laser focus. I was club champion seven years out of ten and the consistent runner-up once Vivian Campbell joined our club. She had played on the women’s team at the University of Texas. Young and strong, she could get to the green on some of the par fours on a single drive. She took three days off from her job as an investment banker to play in the club championship every May and kick my ever-growing ass. It sort of foreshadowed my future, being dethroned by a younger woman and all. Still, at that time I had a respectable single-digit handicap and lived for the high that came from competitive golf. Since moving to Tulsa, I have not had anything to challenge me, and this spying stuff brings back those old feelings in a big way.

  An idea begins to take shape in my head—suddenly I know how I could spy on the meeting that evening. Be careful, I tell myself, knowing I’m probably not going to listen.